So Much to Live For
by Diana the Burninator
Summary: A girl mourns the loss of her missing pet and finds herself having a conversation with none other than Death of the Endless.


Author's Note: This is one of a group of stories I wrote a few years back, which I've finally decided to post here. Like I said, they're not very recent, so don't expect anything profoundly wonderful, but I hope the readers here enjoy them.  
  
Disclaimer: Death and all Sandman characters are the creations of Neil Gaiman and Mike Dringenberg and trademarks of DC Comics and Vertigo. This is a labor of love, and no money is being made off of it. Yadda, yadda, yadda...  
  
On with the show!  
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Louie.   
  
She's been gone only three days.   
  
I stare out at the rain, at the murkiness of the neighborhood.   
  
Louie. My little Louie. It's been only three days, and I know. I know she'll never come back. We still have Sugar, of course, but Louie was mine. I loved her so much. I still do. You never stop caring about your lost pets, even after they've been gone for years. I never stopped missing Teddybear. Or Groucho. Or Elise.   
  
Well, Elise wasn't really "lost." She died, the poor thing. In a coma for, what was it, a week? It hurt so much to see her lying in that little pet carrier at the vet. Her beautiful yellow eyes were rolled up in their sockets. I kept telling myself, "She's going to be all right. Everything's going to be fine." I knew deep down it wasn't going to be all right and nothing was going to be fine, at least not for a while. I wasn't surprised when we had to put her down. It still hurt so much. The medical bills didn't concern me. We could always get that money back. It was Elise we'd be missing forever. It was just like a family member had died. I knew why, even in my youth. It was because a family member had died.   
  
I miss Elise. I miss her sweet clumsiness. Her soft purr. I need to visit her grave more often. How I wish we could have given her a tombstone. At least a box to be buried in. No. All the dignity she got was a bright pink rose tucked into her collar. I'd cut it and set it with the body just before the burial. Even Dad had cried. I'll never forget seeing him cry.   
  
I don't know which I hate worse, seeing a pet die or simply losing a pet. I've gone over it again and again in my mind. We've lost so many. I don't know what it is. Are we just not meant to have cats? Sugar is the only one who stayed. Good ol' Shug. Fat and content.   
  
I guess, in a way, losing a pet is much worse. Actually, in several ways. So much can happen to a cat on the streets. God, if only I knew that Louie was okay. Even if I never saw her again. Just to know that she was all right. Maybe with another family. A loving one who fed her well. Changed her litter everyday. I blush as I remember all the time I spent grumbling about having to change the litter box. It was my duty, and I agreed to it. It was a verbal contact that I'd signed to have that little black kitten with the white spot her chest.   
  
Of course, at the time, we didn't know it was a she. That's how she came to be named "Louie."   
  
The rain isn't letting up. The weather guy on T.V. is saying that it could last for days. I don't care. I just pray that my little Louie isn't out in it.   
  
I think about Dad and how it's all his fault. No. It's not really. So he let her out of the house. She's been outside before. If she'd disappeared after I let her out, I know that I'd never be able to forgive myself. The thought disturbs me. Still, Dad just doesn't seem to care. Did he even really love her? I know I did. She was mine, and I loved her. Now, I miss her.   
  
I guess I'm angry with Dad. Not really angry. What's the point? If I start yelling at him about it, he'll only yell at me back, then we'll both end up feeling miserable. Total shit-heads. Me, most of all.   
  
What happened to her? I need closure. I need an answer. I can't take much more of this.   
  
I get sick of watching the rain and decide to flip television channels. Click. Click. Click. There's nothing on. The usual soap operas and talk shows. Trash. I get up off of the couch with the cat claw scratches on the sides and wander around the house. My bare feet hate the feeling of the grungy shag carpet underneath them. This rug has to be older than I am. The color makes me sick. Puke green. I hate it.   
  
I go to my room and sit on the bed quietly. The sound of rains and wind batter against the walls of the house and my eardrums. It's hypnotizing. I stare into the dresser mirror. I look a mess. I have a terminal case of "bed head." My teeth aren't brushed. Smudged and runny mascara stains my eyes. They said that stuff was water-proof. What a rip.   
  
After several minutes, or hours, of listening to the weather, I quietly make my way into the bathroom. I rinse my face. The clean, cold water washes away all signs of grief and mourning. I look up into the mirror and feel hooks in my heart. Tears welling up, I tear my eyes away from their reflections. Somehow, it seems that they aren't my eyes at all. I shake my head. "Idiot. You're going crazy, girl." I look back up, hesitantly. The blue eyes that stare back are indeed mine.   
  
Solemnly, I put on my old sneakers, which I haven't worn for months. I head for the door, not even bothering to grab a jacket. The dirty rain hits me suddenly. I'm instantly soaked. Good.   
  
My rusty old bike sits in a corner of the patio. I walk over to it and mount quickly. I take off for the park a mile down the road. The wet air pushes my hair back in dripping dreadlocks as I ride along the sidewalk. I think about Louie. There's no need to hold back now. The tears flow. I can't even feel their warmth, which is instantly swallowed up by the chill of the water already pelting my cheeks. I ride faster and faster, a sudden burst of rage and despair overtaking me. "Why??" I scream against nature, the taste of rain touching my tongue. No one can hear me, I'm sure. I don't want anyone to hear me. This feeling isn't for anyone else. It's mine. All mine. Just like Louie was.   
  
I'm still crying my invisible tears as I approach the park. The usually cheerful, lively place looks like a swamp today. The soft dirt underneath the swings has been transformed into murky muck and mire. The ghosts trees of the winter are naked, save for the thin veil of water that covers them. I pedal up to the jungle gym, the rear wheel of my bike flinging soaked brown earth onto the back of my shirt. I sit on the bars, just out of reach of the skimpy protection of a naked oak, weeping my eyes out for my little lost Louie.   
  
Suddenly, the rain on my head stops, and I can feel the salty heat of my tear drops invade the icy territory on my face. I look up. She's standing there.   
  
"Are you okay?" She stares down at me, her black tank top and jeans perfectly dry. Her spiky jet black hair isn't even messed up by the wind. Her goth eye make-up is perfectly in place. I'm not jealous. She looks down at me with nothing but sympathy, shielding me from the elements with her black umbrella.   
  
I stare back, a tangle of warring feelings overcoming me, none of them stronger than any others. "Aren't you cold?" I hear myself ask. I know it's a stupid question.   
  
She smiles rather sadly. It's a beautiful smile, nonetheless. "Not really. You?"   
  
I laugh a little bit and realize that my nose has become stuffed-up from my crying. "Yeah. A bit."   
  
I watch as she sits down beside me on one of the metal bars, still holding the umbrella above us. "You look it. Rough day?"   
  
Somehow, I know that I can tell her everything and she'll understand. I know that she'll understand anything I tell her. I don't know how I know. I just do. "Louie's gone."   
  
"Oh...I see. Miss her, huh?" How did she know Louie was a girl? She pulls out a white hanky from her pocket. "Here."   
  
I take it and almost laugh at the absurdity of it all. "You got a towel in there, by any chance?" I ask cynically. It's not like me. I wipe my face off with the hanky. "I'm sorry."   
  
"It's okay." I look into her dark brown eyes, and I see the capacity to forgive anything, no matter how bad. I feel that she knows me. I feel that she loves me. "Wanna talk about it?"   
  
Eyes red from anger and sadness, nose stuffy from mourning, I begin to tell her: "Louie was mine! She was my cat. I loved her so much. But Dad let her out. He let her out, and he doesn't care that she's not coming back. I'll never see her again. I know she's dead."   
  
The stranger, though she's not really a stranger, simply nods. "How do you know he doesn't care?"   
  
"I just do." I wipe my nose with the hanky and try to hand it back to her.   
  
"That's okay," she says. "You keep it."   
  
I sniffle pathetically. "Thanks." I fold it up and stuff it into my jean pocket. "Stupid day, huh?"   
  
She grins at the change of subject. "No. I don't think so. I always loved rainy days. And sunny days."   
  
"And snowy days. And windy days," I finish. "You're one of those 'live every day to its fullest' people, aren't you?"   
  
She looks at my anguished face. "Sure. Aren't you?"   
  
My nose starts to run, so I pull the hanky back out and blow. "I used to be. Not anymore."   
  
"No need to give it up now. You're too young to die."   
  
"Who said anything about me dying?" I scoff rudely.   
  
"You did. You said that you're not 'living life to its fullest.' If you're not living, then you must be dead, right?"   
  
I just stare at her blankly, trying to comprehend. "That's rather twisted logic. Sounds like something from a Disney film."   
  
"Don't you like Disney? I always did." She smiles again. For some reason, it makes me smile, too.   
  
"I like Disney okay. I used to love it as a kid."   
  
"You are a kid, Diana."   
  
I chuckle a little bit, not even paying any attention to the fact that she knows my name, which I haven't told her. "Yeah. A dead one, right?"   
  
"Your choice."   
  
"I'm not dead. Louie is...." I lower my head and stare into the impressions that my grimy sneakers made into the muddy ground. "I'll never see her again."   
  
She puts a perfectly manicured hand on my wet shoulder. "Sure you will! I know you will."   
  
The tears flow again. "Elise, Teddybear, Bandit..."   
  
"Them, too." I look back at her, and she looks directly into my eyes. Suddenly, she seems older than she looks. Much, much older. "I've seen death. You wouldn't believe how much of it I've seen. Despite all that, I keep my chin up. There's something else out there. Don't you worry."   
  
On a whim, I begin to sing, weakly. "'Rosie, ya gotta cheer up....'"   
  
She joins in. "'Stick out that nobel chin!'"   
  
"'Gray skies are gonna clear up.'"   
  
"'So slap on a happy grin!'"   
  
I can't help it. I smile. There's something about this girl. I just have to smile. "You know your movies, huh?"   
  
"Yeah. That's one of my favorites. Then again, I have a lot of favorites."   
  
I laugh to myself a bit for no particular reason. "Me, too."   
  
A suddenly stressed look comes over her features. "Look, I can't stay much longer. It's been really nice talking to you, but I have to get back to work."   
  
"This is what you do on your break?"   
  
"You'd be surprised how refreshing it is to just get out and talk with the living."   
  
I pause. Maybe she means more by that than it seems. Maybe not. I stand up slowly. "I hope I'm not talking to a dead person."   
  
I can tell that that little remark amused her. "I can assure you that I'm not dead in any way. I don't plan on it for a long, long time." She stands up beside me. She's about my height. That makes me feel better since I'm so short. "I hope you have the same plans."   
  
I grin. "Yeah... I'm not dead yet."   
  
"You've got a lot to live for, kid." She positions the handle of the umbrella over her white shoulder. It's then that I notice how incredibly pale she is. Even more than I am. "I'll be seeing you later, okay?"   
  
"Sure. Same place next week?"   
  
She gives me a curt grin. "I'll have to look into that, but I'd like to."   
  
I grin back. "Okay, then."   
  
She begins to walk off, leaving me to get pelted by water once more. Somehow, it doesn't bother me at all. She's a few yards away when she turns to me and says rather loudly over the light roar of the rain, "Be sure to be careful crossing that street. I don't want to have to see you again too soon." Smiling that wonderful smile, she goes on her merry way. I think I can hear her humming the rest of that goofy song from Bye Bye Birdie. Slowly, it fades away, as does her image. The sheets of rain hide her black and white figure from my eyes. I strain to see, but she's gone. I don't know whether she's just out of range of my myopic eyes, or if the air just swallowed her up.   
  
My eyes feel fine now and don't sting, and my throat no longer contracts with newborn sobs. Louie's gone, but I can accept it. I climb back onto my bike and cross the street carefully. I ride the mile back home solemnly, thinking about what just happened. It occurs to me that I never learned the girl's name. I can learn it next time we meet, I guess.   
  
I get to my house and smile. The sun peeks through the clouds just a little bit. It's beautiful. Like her smile. I set my bike down in its place in the driveway and make my way over to a little mound of dirt in the backyard underneath the shade tree that grows over from the yard next door. A sad grin on my lips, I lean down and touch the muddy earth. "Hi, Elise." I pause, not really knowing what to say in this situation. "It's Diana. I miss you." I quickly wipe away a small tear with the now very dirty hanky, noticing a letter on it. "D," I say to myself. "That's cute." Looking once more upon the grave of poor Elise, I head for the side door to the house.   
  
I go inside. No one's around. Good.   
  
I go to the bathroom again and take a nice, hot shower, getting all of the gunk left by the rain out of my hair. After drying myself, I lie down on my bed, drawing the soft goose-down comforter around me. Sugar comes in and lies down beside me. I scratch her head, and she purrs like heaven.   
  
I'm not dead yet. I have so much to live for.   
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Story Notes: Yes, that's li'l old me right there. In general, I disapprove of self-insertion fics, but I needed this kind of emotional release changing my name in the story seemed like a silly thing to do. But I don't think it hurts the story. And if you're wondering, yes, Louie came back. 


End file.
